"Let me look, Hanna!"
"I said, NO!"
"Hanna, please just let her look. You're badly injured –"
"No, Ghallahad! Get off!"
"Hanna, please..."
"Leave me alone!"
To her, it's almost always impossible to tell what I'm thinking. That was something she learned early on. We walk the lonely street together, in perfect silence but also in perfect understanding. There's nothing that needs to be said. Every so often, I see her glance up at my shadowed face, worry etched into her features. The question embedded in her eyes is one she doesn't need to ask, but probably feels she should. Are you worried, Zombie? As we pass under a streetlamp, it throws an ugly yellow pool of light over us. And yet somehow, it only manages to catch those fly-away strawberry blonde hairs and illuminate them, making her seem all the more vulnerable without Hanna by her side. Then it's gone again, and the girl is thrown into darkness once more. Befitting, considering the world she's been dragged into.
A street sign looms up ahead. It gives us a choice: left or right. Simple really, but the weight of making the right decision only makes me feel pressured. And her green eyes on the side of my head worsen the burden; I can feel her eyes drilling a hole in the side of my head with the burning question. I know I have to choose carefully. The wrong choice could be disastrous, for both Hanna and her. My eyes drop onto hers and I just look at her for a moment.
"Wh-Which way should we go?" The shake in her voice is obvious and I can't help but feel something. But it dissipates as I watch her arms fold over her chest, rest one elbow on her other arm and place her fist in her mouth. She chews on her knuckles slightly, her teeth grinding uncontrollably over them, bone to bone. I consider telling her to stop like I have so many times before, but I reframe. I can see she's worried.
I realize I have yet to reply and, slowly, I turn my head back up towards the sign above our heads. And finally it clicks.
"Let's go right." Comes out of my mouth before I can stop myself. She gazes up at me, that same confused look coating her cute features.
"Why right?" The truth is, I have no reason. It's just... a gut-feeling, pardon the pun. She seems to understand when she receives no reply. So we resume our places at each other's side, making our way down the route that I've chosen. I feel the need to say something and I do, at the risk of reminding her of the pain caused by her brother's death.
"It wasn't your fault you know."
For a moment, she's silent. My words aren't sinking in and I know they never will. To her, Hanna running away will eternally be her fault. Somewhere nearby, a whimper sounds. We both pause, waiting for it to sound again. It does. From under the rim of my fedora, I spot her rush up the pavement and cross the road, disappearing down a dark alley. That same something feeling kicks in and I find my feet following after her. When I turn the corner, she's standing over him. Just staring. His eyes are staring back, his back curved in his slumped position as he sits on the ground and leans against the wall. His breath is coming up in short pants and his hand is pressed to the bloody stain on his striped shirt. Time seems to have stopped as the pair gaze at each other.
Then it all rushes back. She drops to his side, her legs buckling beneath her and her face burying into his chest.
"H...Hanna..." I hear her mumble, tears threatening to choke her. Hanna's hand touches her shoulder and she gasps, looking back up at him. He manages to smile weakly through his pain, but inhales quickly when the movement rubs his shirt against his wound.
"Please let me look at you, Hanna... Please..." She begs. He looks back, more serious than I've ever seen the red-head. Eventually, he nods. She seems to leap on him, hands shaking, shirt lifting under her grip. Hanna winces and she apologises quietly.
The scene playing out before me is one I've known was coming for a long time. Her Vitakinesis, her Latrosis, begins and she sets to work on healing his wound. His chest is revealed in what little moonlight is filtered through into the alley, the jagged wound grinning and the metal flashing dimly. She wants to ask why it is Hanna will never let her heal him. But I've known the answer for a long time; he didn't even need to tell me. It's the way he looks at her that gave it away. Yes. The reason Hanna will never let her heal him...
It's because he never wants to see her hurt. Never.